


The Fixer

by 401



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Dreams and Nightmares, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Flashbacks, Hallucinations, Hearing Voices, Hurt/Comfort, Love, M/M, Panic Attacks, Physical Contact, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sensory Deprivation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-02
Updated: 2016-01-02
Packaged: 2018-05-11 05:18:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5615305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/401/pseuds/401
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky Barnes needs some fixing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Fixer

“Steve, don’t leave.”

The Captain smiled to himself and sat back down in his place next to Bucky’s bed in the chair he had pulled in from the living room. He lifted his feet up and rested them on top of Bucky’s legs and felt a sigh of tension leave the soldier.

“Sorry,” Steve whispered, “Thought you’d finally drifted off.”

Bucky nodded to himself and pulled the cover tighter around his shoulders and breathed in the warm washing powder and cologne smell he was beginning to associate with Steve. He let his eyes flick shut again, praying internally that he would not be met by the same images that had been plaguing him for weeks.

Needles. Hydra, restraints, that bone saw they had used on his arm, they all stuck in his throat like shards of glass. They replayed in his head, a throbbing, shuttering movement behind his aching eyes like a strobe light.

Steve felt the brunet’s breathing hitch and pick up.

“Deep breaths, Buck,” Steve soothed, “Let yourself go.”

The anxiety around falling asleep had begun as soon as Bucky had returned and Steve had lost count of the nights like this that they had endured since. The nightmares were unbearable, often tailed with irrational fear of any physical contact which made him difficult to subdue and even more difficult to comfort.

Steve’s first instinct was always to hold the soldier as tight as he could until the memories, the panic and the voices stopped. The first time he had followed his instincts had been the last. Four broken ribs had made that final.

“Just try and breathe, Bucky,” Steve whispered, letting his eyelids shut heavily.

He sat back in the chair and tilted it until his head rested against the wall behind him. It was 3am and his thoughts clouded with fatigue and stress. The Captain felt hopeless; he was a fixer. He knew how to soothe Dr Banner’s guilt when the Hulk acted out, he knew how to diffuse the tension between Clint and Tony when they bickered, he could make Nat smile on her stormiest days.

He _used_ to be able to do the same for Bucky. Used to.

“Steve?” Bucky’s voice was an unexpected interruption in the silence.

“Mhm?” Steve opened his eyes slowly, heaving himself upright.

There was a long pause.

“I need…” Bucky’s voice trailed off into hoarse nothingness.

Steve stood up and stretched.

“Go on, pal,” he yawned, “Tell me.”

Bucky paused again. Steve could almost hear the face the soldier was pulling. Eyebrows furrowed into a guilty little knot above his nose so that his eyelashes cast shadows on his cheeks and his lip tucked under his top teeth.

“I need you to lay with me,” Bucky’s voice got even smaller, “Please?”

That was something Steve could do. He covered the distance between them and kicked off his shoes on the way before climbing over Bucky and into the bed next to him. It had been Steve’s bedroom and Bucky had been in the spare room overlooking the main road. The lights and sound had turned him into a total wreck within hours and they had swapped the same night.

Steve put one unobtrusive arm around Bucky’s shoulders, giving him room. The Captain was surprised when he shuffled back eagerly, closing the space between them and pressing himself into the curve of Steve’s body and pulling the blonde’s arms around him tighter.

Steve closed his eyes, but he was no longer tired. He was the least tired he had felt for years. He was content. If this was to be all he was allowed to do for the rest of his days, he would be happy.

“Don’t go,” Bucky whispered hoarsely, the familiar panic rising in his voice, “Please don’t let go.”

Steve shushed him, a long, slow whistle of air that tapered off but did not really end, just changed into a calming sort of background noise that Bucky could not find under the noise of his own thoughts.

“I’ll only let go if you ask me,” Steve promised, “I’ll stay all night if you need me to.”  


“I can’t get it out of my head, Steve,” Bucky turned to face the Captain, pressing his forehead far too hard against his chest. Dry, tired sobs started to shake the brunet’s shoulders.

Steve wrapped his arms around him fully, the fear of more broken ribs, more tears or more meltdowns sliding to the back of his mind. He cradled Bucky’s head to his chest and pressed his mouth to his temple, squeezing him and making him small. It took him a moment to realise that he was kissing him.

“S-sorry,” Steve mumbled, “I went too far, sorry.”

Bucky shook his head and leaned back in against Steve, pulling the Captain’s face back down to his.

Steve was a fixer, and Bucky just needed some fixing.

 

 


End file.
